


Of Poisons Past and Present

by literaryspell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-15
Updated: 2010-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:44:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryspell/pseuds/literaryspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Snape attend the same potions conference. It appears their history isn’t quite in the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Poisons Past and Present

**Author's Note:**

> Endless internet cookies go to my betas [](http://keppiehed.livejournal.com/profile)[**keppiehed**](http://keppiehed.livejournal.com/) , [](http://seatbeltdrivein.livejournal.com/profile)[**seatbeltdrivein**](http://seatbeltdrivein.livejournal.com/) and [](http://ratherbsailing.livejournal.com/profile)[**ratherbsailing**](http://ratherbsailing.livejournal.com/) , who worked on this and eight other Snarry fics that I wrote for the Snarry-a-thon. Also huge love to [](http://accioslash.livejournal.com/profile)[**accioslash**](http://accioslash.livejournal.com/) who slaved over that thon.

Harry could not believe it. He couldn’t _fucking_ believe it. He'd only agreed to go to the conference after he'd been assured—in writing, no less—that Snape wasn’t going to be there.

Not only was Snape _there_ —but they were booked into the same damn room.

Of course there was only one hotel in the damn town. Village, really—which boasted absolutely nothing of note except for a very rare breed of hydroflora, a plant that was poisonous enough that one couldn't even drink the town water or camp on the town grass. Harry actually wondered if it might be worth it just to get out of the room.

"Can you at least attempt to be mature about this?" Snape asked, calmly unpacking his suitcase and putting his robes into the closet.

The action was so familiar that it almost made Harry wince. He didn’t bother unpacking his own things. They'd only be there one night. The conference would go into the evening and then start up again the next morning. The stupid hydroflora was _sensitive_ —he whined the word inside his head—and one couldn’t Apparate within a few kilometres of it. Even Floos were banned. It'd been a two-hour flight on his broom to get there, and it shocked him that so many witches and wizards had done the same.

The only consolation was that Snape had had to ride a broomstick, too, and Harry knew how much he hated to.

"This is me, being mature." Harry flounced back on his bed and crossed his arms over his chest. If he made too big a deal about this—demanding to switch rooms with someone else—Snape would know how much he was bothered by his presence.

"I can see that." Snape's sarcastic voice made Harry's insides clench. Damn it.

There were two hours to waste before the conference started. Should he leave the hotel, he'd likely end up lying in the grass, awaiting whatever fate the vindictive plant had in store.

"I read your paper on hydroflora," Harry said, staring up at the ceiling. There were water stains. Snape said nothing. "If you know so much about it, why are you here?"

He couldn’t see Snape, but he knew he was rolling his eyes. "I know a lot about it, not _everything._ "

"You got that right," Harry mumbled. He sighed. He didn’t want to do this. He never had. He _hated_ fighting with Snape. "The article was good. Interesting. You've gotten better at leaving the snark out of it."

"Yes, well, you remember my editor's rather fatalistic threats."

The casual reminder of the time they'd spent together hit Harry like an ocean after a parachute had failed.

"Yeah," he whispered.

He felt Snape looking at him. He closed his eyes. God, why did it still hurt so much? It had been three years! That was more than enough time—so everyone kept telling him and he kept telling himself—to get over it. To move on.

"I heard you got the Potions Master position at Hogwarts," Snape said softly.

Harry nodded, not even sure if Snape was looking at him. "I know you recommended me." Minerva had as good as told him, though never in those exact words.

"You were an excellent student… eventually."

Harry's time as Snape's assistant and later his acolyte had changed his life. He'd started out answering Floo calls and scrubbing bubotuber pus from ancient cauldrons—he'd only been drawn to working for Snape because the man was universally left _alone_ , and that was what Harry wanted for himself. It had worked. He stayed away from the public, out of the spotlight, in return for constant humiliation and jibes at his expense under Snape's watchful eye.

Then something had shifted. Snape had him making bases for his potions. Harry helped in the lab, cutting and grinding and draining. Then he had Harry make the simple potions, according to his strict, detailed, and caustic instructions.

Then Harry was suddenly making potions by himself. Then he'd _invented_ a potion—sure, it wasn’t the most glorious invention, his enema potion, but it came in very handy.

Right.

"I did what you said," Harry said after a long moment of quiet. There it was, spread between them, heavy as the weight Harry'd had on his shoulders ever since Snape had ended things.

"I know you did." Harry heard Snape sit on his own bed. It creaked a little.

"It didn’t work like you said it would." _Travel_ , Snape had said. _See the world. Find yourself. Meet other people_. Snape's way of saying he didn’t want Harry around anymore—that he thought Harry was boring and tiresome and a horrible fuck. Maybe he was; he didn’t know. His other partners hadn’t complained, but he wouldn't have heard it even if they'd been around long enough to say anything. He'd travelled and explored and experienced and fucked and all the while his mind had been on _home._

"Harry, I—" But Snape didn’t finish.

"You're an idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"You fucking heard me." Harry sat up quickly and faced his former lover. Snape looked exactly the same—how dare he, when Harry looked into the mirror every morning wondering when he'd fallen apart. "You're an idiot. You should have just… ended it! Like a man! You give me all these excuses because you know I'll listen to you and do as you ask because I always thought—" Harry halted, reining in his words.

"You always thought…?"

Sighing, Harry gave up. He was tired. Bone-weary, with too far to go before he could sleep—before he could _rest._ "I thought you'd wait for me."

Snape was silent for a long time. "I thought you'd return to me."

Harry boggled. "I _did_!" He moved onto his hands and knees and crawled to the side of the bed, where a narrow aisle divided them. "I did. And I saw your new little assistant. He was ever so helpful, Snape, and obedient, and quiet, and he stirred like he knew exactly what he was doing—that's what you always wanted, isn’t it? Not _me_! Not clumsy, stupid, inexperienced Harry Potter!"

"You're right," Snape said, standing. There was fury in his eyes but the rest of his face betrayed nothing. "I didn’t want _Harry Potter._ I only _ever_ wanted you… _Harry_ —and while I had you, you were only waiting for something better."

"You're right," Harry said, mimicking Snape's words. "I was waiting for something better. _All_ of you. And you never gave it to me!"

"Harry, what I gave you was all I had."

Harry shook his head. This was bullshit. They'd never get anywhere like this. He only had one question—there had only ever been one question. "Did you love me then?"

Snape's hands were shaking. He looked at Harry, long and hard, and for once, Harry didn’t feel the need to look away. But Snape obviously did.

"Then," Snape said, nodding. "Then, and still."

"Then _why_?"

"Because you were a child!" Snape roared. He walked away, standing by the window. "Because if I kept you with me I would have ruined you."

Harry laughed mirthlessly. "All I ever wanted was to be ruined by you. With you."

"It's too late."

Harry knew that, sort of. It felt too late. But it wasn’t like they were old men. There was still a place for them, a chance. If only Harry would take it… if only he could convince Snape to.

"So who's the new assistant, anyway?"

Snape chuckled. "A distant cousin of Draco's from France. He's horrible at potions."

"All your assistants start out that way," Harry joked.

Snape turned and looked at him. Really looked at him, maybe for the first time ever. "It's good to see you, Harry."

"Sit with me tomorrow, during the conference," Harry said.

Snape continued to stare for a long time. Harry held himself open, feeling like he was naked and eighteen again, in Snape's bed for the first time, cold and nervous and new and asking for something he didn’t understand. Finally, Snape nodded.

He turned back toward the window.

Harry smiled. Maybe they'd ruin each other yet.

The end.


End file.
